Solar Flare: Chapter 1
by hjohenson
Summary: A Warmachine/Iron Kingdoms fanfiction. A mercenary alchemist is hired by the Protectorate of Menoth to research a strange chemical found deep in the desert. As he learns more about this mysterious compound, strange things begin to happen around him...
Trees seemed to fly around him as he ran from the plumes of smoke and flame. The moon was high and full tonight, giving the forest around him a pale, ethereal glow. The night sky shone down on the man as he dashed through the woods, heading towards the mountains. His clothes, torn and ragged, fluttered in the breeze. He held a worn out sack tight to his chest, its contents tinkling around every time his feet hit the ground. The scraps of his shirt caught on the twigs and leaves as he dodged between trees. Despite the scratches, he clutched to his stolen goods. It wasn't much, just a few bottles wrapped up in a ratty cloth, but it was all he had now. The flameguard behind him yelled something as they leapt through the foliage. To the man, it was no more than a whisper to him over his ragged breaths. He had a mission. It wasn't much of a mission now, but it was still his. He must keep the contents of this bag safe, and away from the Protectorate. The contents within could destroy Cygnar...

 _Just one month ago..._

The desert sun shone upon the city like a blazing eye. The shimmering sands of the wastes seemed to shift in the blistering heat, their dunes moving like waves of silicon. The city within these endless sands was immense, gated by gigantic stone walls. The people living there were in the midst of daily life, going to and fro like ants on their hill. Merchants called out to passerby, fruits and trinkets in their stalls, ready to be sold. Parents reeled in children dashing here and there. The occasional ruffian scowled from the alleys, seeking out easy prey from the crowd outside. Wandering priests spouted scripture from the teachings of Menoth. All manner of smells flowed with the gentle breeze, from spiced meats to the disgusting refuse in the alleyway.

Yet, one man stood out in the hustle and bustle of life around him. He moved with a purpose towards the main cathedral in the center of the town. The theocratic government of the city resided there, and anyone could see he had business within. There was no doubt the clergy had called upon him for some reason. He was attired in a brown poncho, and a wide hat shaded him from the burning light above. His pants and shirts were both worn out and dusty from what must have been a long trip. Two belts crossed his waist, each holding up many small vials and bottles. Every one of these bottles had some strange colored liquid within.

A large bag was slung on his shoulder. Within the bag was a great deal of bottles, trinkets, and laboratory equipment. To the passive observer, he was just a wanderer seeking shelter. To the more trained eye, he was a master alchemist, and the clinking in his bag was his gear. The fluids on his belts were no doubt his potions and tonics. Many people pointed to him as he passed. He could hear their murmurs, questioning his purpose in town. He stuck out as a non-worshipper amongst the legions of the faithful here. As he walked towards the church, more people whispered about the strange tools he had on his person. He chuckled to himself, listening to their concerns from afar. They had nothing to worry about, as he had a specific goal in town, and it did not involve any of them.

The grand temple of Menoth rose above him as he strode forward, and as he looked up to it, his face was revealed to the shining sun. His face was young, no more than thirty. His bright blue eyes twinkled with intelligence and cunning. A long scar ran along his cheek, starting above the left corner of his lips and ending near his ear. With a smile, he moved forward to the church, parting the doors and entering the shade. The cool shadow within was a sharp contrast to the heavy heat outside, and he sighed with relief as he stepped inside. As he did, the villagers turned back to their business, muttering about strangers.

As he stepped inside the huge church, he stopped and stared. The man stood in awe of the massive cathedral above him, looking up into the shining light of the sun. Stained glass dotted the glass ceiling, depicting the history of the Menoth faith. The rainbow from the stained glass seemed to dance in the air around him. The faithful of Menoth relaxed in the pews, deep in prayer to their god. The faint chanting of the choir echoed through the halls. No doubt they were deep within the cathedral, lost in prayer to their god. The man couldn't imagine anyone in the town wouldn't worship. Then again, there were stranger things out there. Case in point, him.

The man was just a mercenary, brought in for some purpose he knew nothing of. Even then, he was only a mercenary by reputation. He worked as an alchemist in a small town nearby, on the edge of the border between the Protectorate and Cygnar. From there, he made a life offering tonics and mixtures to whomever would buy them. Cygnaran soldiers would come to him for oils to slick their blades, believing it made them faster. Menites would come to him for incense, which he concocted for them with a smile and a flourish. Other mercenaries would ask him for special tonics and potions, for both poison and healing. All these concoctions were simple for him to boil up. Some of the potions were even infused with magic that the man had learned over the years. Whether they actually worked was up for debate, but hey. The few times they didn't work… well, the users weren't around to spoil his name. They usually didn't test the concoctions before taking them into battle.

So when a visgoth of Menoth called on his services, it took him completely by surprise. As he had packed for the trip, he had a nagging feeling of dread tugging at his heart. Could they have found out about some of his mismade tonics? Did they realize his incense contained relaxing agents that were illegal in the Protectorate? Might they have found his secret stash of coal and oil outside of town? He'd always kept it just in case he ever managed to afford his own laborjack. He couldn't imagine why that would bother them, but his mind was on overdrive throughout the trip. These questions and more needled his brain, dragging worry and concern through his heart.

As he stepped up to the visgoth, he couldn't help but feel apprehension. The high priest was leading a group of lesser priests in prayer. He was clad in ornate robes of white, with gold and crimson trim. Holy symbols dangled from his neck, held up by chains and straps of leather. All together, he looked regal and divine, as if chosen by the god of humanity to speak on his behalf. The alchemist knew that this high priest, this visgoth, was nowhere near the highest position of the clergy, but it was hard to not see him as such.

He cleared his throat, not wanting to speak out and break the silence. The priests ignored him, their chanting uninterrupted. Some of the people glanced up to him, wondering who would dare break the solemn quiet. As soon as they realized who he was there to see, they returned to their daily routine. The visgoth looked up to him, and his face lit up with a smile. "Ah! Mister Korone. The alchemist we asked for. Come, my friend. We have something important to discuss." He gestured to a small door on the side of the cathedral, which the man followed him through. The door swung closed behind them.

The hallway within was a stark change from the main hall. It had no windows at all, and only a few torches keeping the place lit. The heavy stones comprising the walls fit together almost like an artistic jigsaw. As the visgoth led the man down the way, he spoke to the alchemist. "My name is Dolus. I hold the position of visgoth in our fair city. I am glad that you managed to find your way here safely. The desert can certainly be a dangerous place, but it is excellent that someone of your… skills was able to come. We desperately need your aid."

The man simply smiled, and nodded his approval to Dolus. "It wasn't that hard of a trip. Horse died 'bout a day before I reached this place, killed by a big scorpion. Had to roast the damn thing to escape."

"Oh, dear. Are you hurt?" Dolus glanced back to him, looking concerned, though the man could hear from his intonations that it was an empty concern. The high priest didn't honestly care. If the alchemist had died in the wastes, it would've been simple for them to hire a new one.

"'course not. I've dealt with bigger trying to bully my store."

The visgoth chuckled at this statement, and halted in front of a heavy iron door. He pulled out a key, unlocking the door and swinging it open. A strong, yet undefinable odor emanated from within. The scent flowed out like a river of ineffable perfume. It was acrid, yet had a distinct smell beneath the sharp tang that was somehow comforting.

The man sniffed at the air, trying to identify the odd chemical. The strange fragrance was almost like fruit. An odd mixture of pleasure and pain flowed through his nostrils. For the first time in his 15 years of being an alchemist, the man had to admit that he had no idea what he was smelling. The smell… it wasn't bad, like the failed solutions he'd made in the past. As Dolus entered, beckoning for him to follow, he gained a better vantage of the room within. It was a simple office, which surprised the man. He had been expecting something more grandiose for the workplace of the high priest.

Bookshelves lined the walls, no doubt copied scrolls from the teachings of Menoth. He examined the rest of the room as the Dolus sat down behind a simple wooden desk. The vacant ceiling and floor was of the same stone make as the hallway, and what wall he could see was bare as well. There was a small cactus on the desk, next to a large jug of… something. He surmised this was the container for whatever chemical was making the odd smell. A lone chair sat across from Dolus, and he took his place upon it at the visgoth's invitation.

"Almost a week ago, some of our miners found this… substance. We've never seen something of its like before, nor do we have the knowledge necessary to examine it. This is why you are here, friend. We need someone like you to test it, to determine its make and usage. Menoth would not have given us such a gift without reason, and I am certain you could figure out why he placed it here for us." The visgoth nudged the chemical towards the man, and he popped open the top. The alchemist glanced within the dark container, and in the torchlight, he could see a pale blue substance. The smell was stronger now, and this close to the source, the pleasant part of the smell was gone. The liquid, up close, smelled only of burning vegetable matter. He pulled back, gagging at the stench.

"Hah, yes. It does smell quite awful this close. The only thing we know of this gift is its burning tendencies. Any living creature that touches it instantly bursts into flame. Many of our people have given their lives to Menoth, claiming this treasure from his hiding place. It tends to ignite without warning, and burns with great ferocity." The man corked the bottle, considering about this new information. It ruled out any kind of water-based fluid, since water wouldn't burn without major chemicals added to the compound. His next thought was some kind of oil, but the color didn't match. Raw oil, perhaps? He would need to perform experiments. Many, many glorious experiments.

This was bound to be a wonderful trip.

 _Three days later..._

This was not a wonderful trip.

The night shone in through his window like a pale beam, countered by the orange light of lamps on the walls. The alchemist sat at his desk, peering into a book, flipping through the pages like a madman. With an air of finality, he slammed the book onto the desk, and leaned back in his chair. No matter what he researched, the answer seemed to elude him. His frustration was clear on his face, and his whole body was tense with anger.

The man glared at the jug holding the liquid, no less than five books open to random pages around it. This accursed fluid had many properties he could use to identify it, but all of his books each had a different answer. In all his years, he'd never encountered anything like this. Apparently, all five of the authors had never encountered it either. He lifted the jug and placed it to the side, then roared with rage as he swept the books to the floor. He felt his magic spark in his hands, igniting two of them as they flew off the desk.

He swore under his breath, and quickly doused the flames with a jug of water nearby. He'd have to retrieve more water for himself now, and that was two books he couldn't replace. He swore to himself again, then kicked the other three books under his bed. As he turned back to the mysterious liquid, he snarled at it, as if expecting it to recoil in fear. He sat back down, and pulled out a glass vial from his equipment bag. With a deft motion, he popped off the cork, then stopped, remembering what the visgoth had said when he arrived. Any living creature that touches it ignites. Would that extend to material that used to be alive?

He sighed, and procured a set of long tongs from the same bag. He picked up the cork with them, and dipped it into the strange liquid. As he pulled it out, it immediately ignited, the cork burning to ash within seconds. Annoyed, he opened the bag and gathered a set of metal corks specially made for this situation. With this done, he took great care as he poured a small amount of the blue fluid into the vial, then corked it. The next step, he remembered from his early days, was to test its ability to handle being boiled.

He carefully placed the vial in a special rack specially made for this purpose. Beneath the rack was a small bowl, filled with candle wick and oil. The alchemist flicked his fingers at it, magic crackling as the wick burst into flames. From here, he would need only wait for the liquid to boil, and then he might be able to learn more about it.

As it heated, the liquid did not boil. It exploded. The blast of heat and fire was not large enough to cause real damage, but the glass shards scattered across the desk and floor. The man sighed, trying to calm his heart after such a start. With another swear to himself, he swept up the pieces, and considered his options. Boiling was clearly out of the question, especially on a larger scale. Had he tried to boil more, the explosion would have killed him. Even if it didn't, the fire would have.

He thought about his choices here. If he stirred or shook the liquid, it would most likely have the same effect. It seemed that exciting the fluid in any way caused it to erupt, and stirring it himself would have unfortunate consequences. He leaned into the window of his room, looking out onto the city itself. It was dark, though he could see the torches of the guards wandering the city on night patrol. He tried in desperation to calm himself, but knowing there was a mystery nearby that he couldn't solve infuriated him to no end. It was bad enough that it was keeping him from a restful slumber each night.

He walked over, and doused his lamps. With a defeated sigh, he fell back on his bed. Perhaps tomorrow, he would have better luck.

 _Four days later…_

The morning sun shone in through the small window of his room. It was not enough to rouse the man from his slumber, that privilege lay with the priest knocking on his door. He didn't have to check, he knew from past experiences that is was one of the faithful leaders. The alchemist simply lay in bed, silently praying to Menoth for the god to tell this priest to leave. All he wanted was a decent night's sleep.

The man sighed in consternation as he heard yet another knock at his door. His room was located in the western wing of the massive church, a sizable living quarter that was being unused at the time. A bed, a dresser, and a desk were all that adorned the room. After unpacking his belongings, it had transformed into a workable lab. He rose from the bed, pulling on his clothes, and opened the door. An older priest was on the other side, who bowed slightly and gave a small smile to the alchemist.

"Good morning, Mr. Korone. I trust you slept well?" His voice was jovial and inviting, and the alchemist knew exactly where this was going. It was going the same place it would every morning. A priest would stop by, checking in, and then invite him to come join their worship. The man nodded to the priest, as he had every morning since he'd arrived. Upon receiving a positive reply, the priest continued. "We are about to convene for the morning worship, if you would care to join us."  
The alchemist almost punched the priest. Every day, this happened. Every day, he gave the same response: No, I should continue my research. He never mentioned anything about Menoth, but every day, the priests accepted his answer. The man assumed that they assumed he was praying in his own way. It was the only answer he could come up with for how he'd managed to stay with them for so long. The priest seemed slightly bothered by this answer, but nodded and wished him luck in his research for the day. As the door closed, the alchemist sighed again, but this time with frustration and depression.

The man was beset on all sides by priests bothering him. Sometimes, it was about the substance. Other times, it was about converting. In other cases, it was to offer supplies he didn't need. One in particular inquired about what his plans were with his payment. This priest even had the nerve to suggest the alchemist donate his fees back to the church. It never ended, either. Everywhere he went within the temple of the creator of man, priests would be a never-ending barrage of questions about his faith, his work, his beliefs, and his plans.

With a few deep breaths, he pulled on his travel clothes, and left the room. As he walked through the halls, he tried to avoid making eye contact with any of the clergy. He'd see them nod to him, or offer a prayer for their resident alchemist, but he ignored them. He needed out, he needed to have wind around him. The stone walls of the church were stifling to him. Maybe that was the problem, he required a change of scenery to break through this enigma facing him.

He stepped out of the church, taking in a deep breath of fresh air. As he walked down the stairs of the cathedral, he noticed some of the guards watching him. He nodded to them, but they did not reciprocate his greeting. Instead, they continued to glare at this faithless intruder. The man sighed again, knowing full well what they'd be doing soon enough. It was only a matter of distance. Once he was far enough from the church, they'd be following him throughout town.

The town was almost the same as when he'd first arrived. All manner of people were bustling in the streets, though the alchemist noted that there were fewer than when he'd made his entrance. He attributed this to the morning prayer, and assumed many of these folks had already completed their worship of their god. The smell of cooking meat drew him to a small stall nearby. He looked over the available food, clearly imported from the nearby farms. The church had given him enough food vouchers to cover a long stay, and he traded one to the owner of the stall for a kebob of meat and vegetables.

As he awaited the meal to be completed, he took this time to take in the scenery. Passerby would gaze at him inquisitively, wondering what a stranger like him was doing in their holy city. Even the tall, dark-skinned man cooking his meal seemed interested. His question was coming, and the alchemist knew it. "So, stranger… what brought you to our city?" The kebob was presented to him as the cook asked the question, and his expression showed both curiosity and concern. Clearly, he wasn't used to the non-faithful ordering food from him.

The alchemist accepted the food, thanking the chef. "Work. Clergy wants me to research some chemical they found out in the desert." A curt answer, but it worked. The chef accepted it, and moved on to help the next person in line. The alchemist moved away from the stall, allowing others passage to the stall, and took a bite from the spiked food. The spice smell was clearly coming from this one stall, as the meat must have been marinated in pepper. He choked on the overwhelming taste, but after a bit of chewing and a swig of water, he managed to swallow. The vegetables weren't much better, but at least they were softer.

As he finished his meal, he kept the thin wooden rod in his mouth, absent-mindedly chewing on it as he walked around the bazaar. He needed some particular equipment, but the chances of coming across it here were almost non-existent. He needed a wandering merchant to come through, offering exactly what he needed, but the huge walls of the city seemed to dash those hopes into the ground. The alchemist spent over an hour searching in vain for a single shop that sold alchemic equipment, but the only real shops around seemed dedicated to either food, blacksmithing, or scribing.

The man felt a tug at his jacket. He glanced down, feeling a twinge of annoyance. It faded as he saw a young girl there looking up at him with wide, curious eyes. She was wearing simple attire, baggy clothes designed to ventilate and keep her cool. Her dusty brown hair had sand in it. Her eyes shimmered with wonder, and they focused on the potions he always kept on his belt. She motioned to them. "What are those things, mister? Do they do something special?"

He chuckled, and pulled off one of the potions, a special chemical he'd discovered when he was young. He always kept a couple vials of it on his person for this exact purpose. The man knelt before her, and popped the top off. A couple of adults gathered around, watching with curiosity and caution. The man was only somewhat aware of them, as his focus was more on the guard that was coming up behind him. He could feel the intimidating presence of the warrior. With a sly grin to her, he poured out the liquid onto the sand. The adults flinched, as if expecting an explosion or fire, but they all gasped at the actual result. The liquid, as it hit the sand, froze! Crystals grew up from where it landed, growing out like a living organism. As he let the chemical flow out of the whole vial, he built a small pillar of crystal for the little girl. He picked it up, dusting the sand off the bottom..

The man handed the little girl the crystal, which she took into her hands like a newborn. She looked down at it, examining the amazing substance with wonder and amazement. The adults all applauded, impressed by the alchemic marvel they'd just watched. The man stood and gave a short bow. He smiled at the group watching him. The little one thanked him for the crystal, and ran off towards a woman in the crowd, showing her the gift. The man turned away, still grinning, only to find himself face-to-face with the guard. The soldier, while he didn't look angry, was glaring at the man.

"I hope you don't plan on doing that often. I don't want to have to clean up after you if one of your little experiments goes wrong." The flameguard turned away, walking out towards the crowd to continue his patrol. The man sighed, proceeding with his daily walk of the market. The tone and warning didn't bother him, he had been expecting it. What bothered him even more was the fact that no one in the ranks of the Protectorate trusted him as an alchemist. He'd been doing his job for fifteen years! He knew better than to practice with chemicals he knew nothing about in front of children! They could at least recognize that he was intelligent enough to understand their laws. There was no way he would put anyone at risk the way they thought he was. He could feel the magic bubbling up within him, the rage ready to ignite it. Showing off for the people had brought him a bit of joy, but a few choice words from the soldier dashed it to hell. All that remained was anger and annoyance once more.

This was not a good situation…

 _Two days later…_

The alchemist awoke to the sun streaming into his room, as usual. He rose to his feet, yawning and stretching. The desk was still covered in his equipment, the jug sitting in the center, taunting him with its impossibility. As he clothed himself, he began once more to consider his options for dealing with the compound. There weren't many at this point, but he had to think of something. Perhaps a walk around the cathedral would clear his mind today. As he pulled on his work attire, he suddenly noticed a distinct lack of anyone knocking at his door.

This was odd, to say the least. For the past nine days, he'd been constantly awakened by the clergy. What made this day different? He wracked his mind as he stepped out of his room, walking down the hallway. Was it a holiday for the faithful of Menoth? He didn't think so, there weren't any real celebrations at this time of year. As he turned a corner, moving into the main hall of the massive church, he saw exactly why no one had woken him today.

A huge man was in the center of the room, clad in massive, splendid armor. It shone in the sunlight, trimmed with gold and painted white. He seemed impossibly powerful, with plates of metal covering him, and ornate pipes coming from the back of his armor. A faint hum filled the room. Coupled with the chanting of the choir, it gave a very clear distinction that this man was a holy force to be reckoned with, and was most likely a warcaster for the Protectorate. The alchemist could only stare at the man, and only after a minute of watching him talk did he realize that the visgoth was speaking to the warcaster.

Dolus looked calm, but tense. "I can assure you, Scrutator, there is no need to worry. We have hired mercenaries in the past, and this alchemist is no different. As soon as his work is done, he shall be sent home immediately." His voice was serene, his pose and tone respectful. The alchemist didn't know what a Scrutator was, but he wagered in his mind that they were high up on the hierarchy of the clergy. This warcaster must be important.

The warcaster noticed the alchemist, and turned to him. "Yes, he shall. If he is not, I can assure you, visgoth… we will have words regarding your attitude towards the non-faithful. As for you…" The massive man stepped towards the alchemist, who took a cautious step backwards. "I trust you won't do anything against the Protectorate while you're here. Don't let my trust go unfounded."

The man gulped, having the entire force of the warcaster glaring down at him. He was no match in the slightest for such a powerful battle mage, and he could only nod vigorously in agreement. The scrutator backed away, turning to leave the church. "You've heard my warning, Dolus. I'll be in town if you require my assistance."

As the warcaster walked out, the visgoth sighed. He walked over and sat down on one of the pews nearby, letting his body slump down. His holy symbols and ornate trim jangled as he did so. The man stepped up to him, still disturbed and shaking from the encounter with the scrutator of Menoth. Dolus looked up at the alchemist. "I… apologize for that, Korone. I was hoping to avoid the higher-ups coming here to question the decision to hire you, but clearly it cannot be avoided for long."

The alchemist sighed. "It's alright. I should've figured someone would be by to ask me questions. Didn't expect a warcaster, though."

"Yes, having one of them come was unexpected. Scrutator Lucion means well, even if he is quite overbearing. Please understand, he is only concerned with the safety of the citizens here."

If the alchemist could've made any sarcastic comments without breaking some law, he would have. Despite his restraint, some twinge of sarcasm made it into his tone as he replied. "I'm sure he is. Could've made his point clear without threatening me, though."

The visgoth sighed, and rose. "I… yes, he could have, but that's just the way the military of the creator are. They have used force so often, it seems they cannot see the world in any other way. Tis a sad state of affairs." He walked back to his podium, and looked over towards the door. As the alchemist looked over as well, he saw a large group of people entering, no doubt here for the morning service. The man looked up at the visgoth.

"I, uh… don't suppose you could procure me a bit more of that liquid? I'm a bit hesitant to do some of the more extreme tests without an extra supply to fall back on." The alchemist tried not to sound too concerned about the extreme tests. After all, it wouldn't look well on him to mention the kinds of things he had to do. Telling the high priest of a church that he planned on setting things on fire would most likely not be a good idea.

Dolus sighed, looking resigned. "I can try, Korone, but this material is rare down in the mines… I do not know how much the people can gather safely. I will see what I can do, however."

The alchemist simply nodded his thanks, and headed back to his room.

 _Later that evening..._

The silent moon hung in the sky, perfectly framed by the window of the alchemist's room. He stood there, contemplating what his life had become. What had started out as a simple task had transformed into a abhorrent enigma with no solution. Yet, he had to find that solution. There was no other option for him, except one that he couldn't bring himself to consider. He sat down at his desk, where the jug holding the fluid awaited whatever experiment he could think of awaited him. Three vials of it lay next to the jug, sealed carefully with metal corks. Metal and glass seemed to be the only things unaffected by the strange compound.

The laboratory was quiet as the man stared down the jug of liquid. It sat on his desk, immobile, silent, and yet somehow it taunted him. He could almost hear it laughing in his face as he glared at it. He'd taken out many smaller bottles and vials of the substance, only to realize that he had no real way to test it all. There was no way to boil it, as it caught fire when he tried. He couldn't shake it too much, as it seemed to be willing to ignite with only slight agitation. The only thing he knew about it now was that the more of it there was, the more heat or movement required to ignite it. He stood up, moving away from the jug, becoming desperate for a solution. He had to figure out something to do to it to test it. His fists clenched as he wracked his brain for ideas. But there was nothing... He couldn't think of anything, especially not when he was so frustrated with everything else!

The man punched the wall, doing nothing to the stone. He shook his injured appendage, a grimace crossing his face as he thought about the issues facing him. The defeated alchemist picked up one of the small glass bottles he'd made for testing, gazing into the mysterious blue liquid. The man fell back onto his bed, looking into the bottle of liquid inferno, not sure where to go now. The only course of action he could think of now was to mix it with random compounds. If that went wrong… well, he'd lose everything. The hypothetical explosion would be catastrophic if they didn't react well.

The shadow of a face crossed the bottle, and the man darted straight up. He looked around his small lab, looking for whoever he just saw in the reflection of the glass. There was nothing, though… no one else was in the lab. The man tested the door, but like he'd checked earlier that night, it had been locked from within. He was alone, yet he could have sworn he saw a woman's face reflected in the bottle. The man sat down at the desk, sighing and rubbing his eyes. He hadn't had a good night's sleep in over a week, and he knew it. His eyes burned from exhaustion, his body was weary from the constant stress.

As his arms fell, he saw the woman's face again in the reflection of the lantern over his desk. It was brief, less than a second, but he saw her face gazing at him. He stood up, clutching at his eyes and head, as if trying to claw the image of the woman from his mind. There was no one else in the room! He was too tired. There were plenty of tests he could have run, if the compound wasn't so violent. He had spent ten days doing nothing but reading his books, trying in vain to discover some obscure chemical with the same properties as this accursed blue fluid. Beyond that, all he was thinking of pointless tests that had gone nowhere! The fury within him was burning away at his mind, and he could already feel the magic bubbling up. He felt an unpleasant sensation within, as the magic in his soul began to spark with power. It was ready to explode at any second! His soul was a flammable solution, one that-

He stopped. He looked. The bottle in his hand. The lantern.

If he wasn't going anywhere doing safe tests… then it was time to be unsafe. He blew out the lantern, and poured the oil within into a glass beaker. Then, with the lightest of touches, he uncorked the small vial, and dumped all the liquid into the oil. He braced himself, ready for the concoction to explode in his face. Both were flammable, both were volatile, and both had the chance of catching fire here and now. But then again… at this point, he had nothing left to lose. He knew that soon, the priests would grow tired of his pointless work. When that happened, they would cast him out to the desert for failing to provide results. Out there, he would burn and die of dehydration, or worse. With this weighing on his mind, a pair of compounds mixing together and exploding in his face seemed like a much more appropriate manner of dying. At least this way, he would go out his way.

Yet… they didn't.

They mixed with each other with flawless perfection. The pale blue fire blended into the oil as if they were meant to combine in the first place. The solution had been so simple, and in front of him the whole time. Two flammable liquids, both combining into something brand new! The resulting concoction was a deep indigo color, like a twilit evening sky. The alchemist could almost see stars in the dark solution, reflecting off the dim light of the room.

The man smiled. Finally… this would be the perfect outlet for his frustration. Solving the problem always helped him feel better. He felt the burning magic within him subside, the sparks of fire in him fizzling out. This would only be the first step towards calming his power, however. There were still many tests to run, and he had so much work to do...

 _Two days later..._

The explosion was violent, loud, powerful, and unbelievably blue. The alchemist laughed and applauded the young recruit who'd thrown the vial of indigo fire, who looked at the new crater in the training grounds with shock and awe. Blue flames licked at the sand and dirt, slowly burning out as plumes of thick smoke rose above them all, a tinge of blue in their cloudy depths. Their trainer nodded in approval, clearly impressed by three of the four aspects the explosion had. The only one he had an issue with was the only one the man had absolutely no interest in.

"But why is it blue? Surely, if great Menoth had sent us this wonderful blessing, it would be of our color. Why is it the color of Cygnar?" The rest of the recruits nodded as well, murmuring the same question amongst themselves. The man looked at all of them incredulously, unable to conceive a reason of why they would even care. He didn't care why it was blue, the color was irrelevant to the actual effect of the fluid. However, they clearly did. He could only shrug, unable to answer them. It was like asking why clouds were white. They just were.

The recruits and their trainer all gathered, the trainer talking to them about how Menoth will guide them and protect them, and how explosions such as this were only to be expected in their line of work. The man left the group, taking the few vials of indigo fire with him. Dolus had come through for him, and last night a worker had brought him two more jugs of liquid flame. With only one, he'd made enough of the new solution to test out chemical grenades. The large crater in the grounds was testament to their effectiveness.

The chemical, when shaken and thrown like a grenade, acted like napalm. It would stick to whatever or whoever was unfortunate enough to be caught in the explosion, setting it ablaze on contact. The indigo fire was incredibly deadly and powerful, but as both the alchemist and the faithful of Menoth had discovered, it was incredibly rare. In the weeks since its discovery, only three full gallon-size jugs of the fluid had been discovered and procured safely. The alchemist attributed this to the explosive properties of the raw indigo fire. After all, according to the visgoth, it was found in mines. It would stand to reason that discovering the fluid would be by mining, and hitting it with a pick was probably not a good idea.

The man headed back into the church, moving towards his lab. There was still much to test, so many other concoctions to try out. He had a hypothesis that the two had mixed so perfectly due to the opposite levels of acidity in them, but without the ability to properly test them, he would never know. As he stepped inside, Dolus nearly bumped into him. The impact caused the alchemist to nearly drop the vials, but he managed to keep a grasp on them. They both stepped back from each other, surprised. The visgoth chuckled at the encounter, seeing humor in it. The alchemist chuckled as well, but his had a tone of terror. If he had lost his hold on the vials, the whole cathedral would have been destroyed.

"I heard you made some wonderful progress! It is great to hear that you're doing good work on the project. Perhaps you'd like to show me sometime exactly what this fluid can do?" Dolus spoke politely, his voice like a faint piano as he issued his question. The man nodded, pointing the high priest in the direction of the training grounds. He looked over in that direction, seeing the dispersing cloud of bluish smoke hovering overhead. "Ah, I see. Well, I'd like to be there next time you have a demonstration. As the leader of this town, it would be prudent of me to know what's underneath my church. You understand, right?"

The alchemist nodded in agreement. It made sense that the leader of a town need know what was in his city, so he could prepare contingencies in case something went wrong. The problem the man didn't bother pointing out was that if there was a problem with the indigo fire, no one in his clergy would be around to take care of it. Everyone would be dead, on fire, or both. The mixing of the compounds had made them more stable to move around, but had made the result far more volatile. If an impact or flame ignited the mixture, it would explode even more violently than the two would separately.

Dolus smiled at the man's agreement, and excused himself. The man watched him as he left, letting out a sigh as soon as the visgoth was out of earshot. Continuing inside, he made his way through the place and into the lower corridors of the cathedral. His lab was calling to him, and he knew what he was going to do next. Different levels of the mixture had to be tested, to see if they had any different effects on each other. All chemicals had an ideal mixture which each other, and his next goal was to find the perfect mix for his indigo fire.

He turned down into the stairway, mind lost in thought. He kept considering each of the possible concoctions he could make out of the oil and blue liquid. Each one had potential as a different weapon. One could make more smoke. One could be more explosive. A mix of the two attributes in some way could have both aspects. The possibilities weren't endless, but varied enough that he could play with them until he could convince the church to buy him more parts for his lab. He didn't have enough to afford it himself, but had always dreamed of owning a perfect and complete laboratory.

"Quite a display today, sir."

The man jumped in shock, then turned, feeling a familiar twinge of annoyance. Another priest, here to bother him about converting after seeing the eruptive fury of Menoth, no doubt. As he turned, he forced his face to appear emotionless, belying the consternation he felt. To his surprise, it was not a priest… it wasn't even a Menite. A woman stood there, leaning against the wall. A skinny gray dress covered her thin body as she looked him over. He did the same to her, having never seen someone wearing such attire anywhere in the city. Her pale blonde hair fell prettily around her face, which was thin and angular. Her eyes were gleaming a silvery-gray in the sunlight, narrowed and focused in a stare on the man.

He blinked in astonishment as she stepped forward, gesturing towards the bag holding the vials of indigo fire. "If I may… you could try adding something sticky to the compound. It might have an interesting effect." Her voice was teasing, taunting almost. She passed right by him, leaving him standing in the hallway, staring straight ahead in shock. He felt something click in his mind, and turned to catch her… but she was gone. He did a double-take, looking back where she had first appeared, and then to where she had gone. Nothing, in either direction. The lady in gray was simply gone.

He dashed down the hallway, trying the doors as he passed. Every one of them was locked, until he reached the second to last door. He threw open the door, dashing inside… only to find his own lab. His eyes scoured the small room, seeking where this woman could possibly be, and his body soon followed as he searched his entire residence. No matter how hard he looked, though, there was no one else in the room with him. After almost an hour of investigation, he sat down on his bed. The man thought hard about the woman. While she'd come out of nowhere, something about her had clicked in his memory, but he couldn't possibly recall from where…

Her words, however, had given him an idea. While he'd been planning on mixing around other chemicals with the indigo fire, her words echoed with his own thoughts. Something sticky could potentially create a powerful compound similar to napalm, but with explosive properties. Such a weapon would be devastating against basic soldiers of any army, even more so against hordes of monsters like the undead. He chuckled as he pulled out a vial of the indigo fire, looking it over. What could he add to this already potent weapon to make it even more destructive?


End file.
